


Negotiation

by Lono



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lono/pseuds/Lono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to stop her somehow. (Prompt fill for sherlocks-salvation)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> I received this prompt over on Tumblr from sherlocks-salvation. She requested a story in which Molly snaps after Sherlock goes too far and they end up having angry sex.  
> There might be some squinting necessary for it to fit the exact prompt parameters, but I hope this is close enough!
> 
> Thanks to the fabulous dietplainlite for looking this over and helping me with some tricky Sherlockiness as I wrote this!

* * *

Molly Hooper was just wrapping up a meeting when Sherlock Holmes burst into the conference room, his omnipresent coat whirling with righteous indignation.

“When were you going to tell me?” he demanded.

Blanching, Molly looked at him pointedly before scanning all of the people staring avidly at the new arrival. “I’m busy right now, as you can clearly see.”

He scanned the room quickly, a mere flick of his eyes. “Your computer is closed and all notebooks have been flipped shut. This meeting was over before I even entered the room.”

“Wrong,” she insisted. “I still needed to discuss”—her eyes darted around, looking for something; _anything_ —“Coffee! Yes, the coffee.  Be sure to throw away the old filters and grounds when brewing new coffee in the break room, everyone. It’s a problem.”

She uttered a silent plea that no one would stupidly point out that this had been a budgetary meeting. Fortunately, everyone remained silent, too busy looking between Sherlock and Molly like spectators at a Wimbledon final.

“And now you’ve finished,” he shot back. “I’ll repeat myself, even though you’re being tedious on purpose. Were you not planning to tell me?”

“Sherlock, can we please continue this conversation later?” she asked calmly.

“No,” he said peevishly. “We can have this conversation now.”

Offering a tight smile, Molly turned to the room at large. “I apologize. This is horribly unprofessional. You all are free to go.”

She didn’t think she imagined the disappointed grumble from a few of the attendees, but they shuffled out of the room with only a few backwards glances. Molly had not managed to desguise her crackling anger, and they were eager to see the calm, quiet Dr. Hooper lose her cool.

The moment the last person cleared the room, Molly hurried over as fast as her impractical “meeting day” heels and skirt would allow. She closed the door, flicking the lock even though the room was not scheduled for anything the rest of the evening.

She whirled around with narrowed eyes.  “Never do that again,” she hissed at Sherlock, who stood there with a glare of his own, his hands clenching angrily at his sides.

“I’ll treat you with respect when you respond in kind. Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

She felt her blood pressure spike as everything fell into place. “You’ve been reading my email.”

He scoffed. “I didn’t have to. You marked your interview quite clearly on your blotter calendar. Really, Molly? You’re not only leaving, but leaving for _Lothian_? I didn’t realize all of your hard work was just so you could languish in a substandard morgue in the Scottish lowlands.”

“It’s none of your business what I do. It doesn’t matter when or how you yell at me. This is my decision, and one I’m taking very seriously.”

“So you _are_ going?” he shouted.

“I don’t know!” Molly shrieked back.

His voice suddenly dropped to a lower volume, but his voice vibrated with anger. “Why?”

“I already said, it’s none of your business!” She was still shouting. “I am about to finish my disseration, and the entire point of becoming a PhD is to expand my horizons.”

“You’re already at the best teaching hospital in the whole bloody country. What have you got to prove?”

“I don’t know how else to explain to you that my reasons are my own.”

Sherlock suddenly straightened, his lips curving into a cold smile. “Ah.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly nervous.

“I know exactly what this is about,” he said smugly.

Molly withheld a groan, but only just. “Sure you do. Now leave.”

“This is about Tom.”

“That’s a lovely theory. And a wrong one. Go away.”

He stalked closer to her. “Are you running away to nurse your broken heart, Dr. Hooper? Are you running away from your problems?”

“You being nasty only makes me more eager for my interview.”

“Which makes it sound more like you’re running away from me,” he suggested silkily, though his eyes still burned.

“Not everything is about you.”

He smirked. “So, yes, it is Tom, then? You ended it. It seems to me like you forfeit your right to pout.”

Seething, she sucked in a deep breath. “The decision to end an engagement is not a pouting matter. The fact that I’m having to explain this to you is just appalling and only shows how little you regard my feelings.”

“Oh, Molly,” he chuckled. “I have every regard for your feelings. That’s why I am so angry with you right now.”

“So you lash out and try to hurt me. I have been working so fucking hard, and you diminish every choice I make to something to do with a man. Sometimes, people make decisions that are entirely selfish. I am thinking about moving to Edinburgh for myself, Sherlock. Because it’s a good job. Because maybe a change would do me good.” She slapped her hands angrily on the table top, glaring at Sherlock across the length of the room.

He moved to her in a few, short strides, stopping a foot away from her. “And how do you think it makes me feel to know it’s so easy for you to leave m—everything at the drop of a hat, at the invitation for job interview?”

“Its not easy, Sherlock!” she yelled, sparing a momentary thought that she only hoped the floor had cleared off for the evening.

He shook his head. “You’re doing a stupendous impression of a person who isn’t struggling with the decision at all. In fact, it almost seems like you already have one foot on that train.”

“What do you care?” Molly goaded, refusing to turn around as he started to circle behind her.

Sherlock actually sputtered at that.  “Is your opinion of me really so low?”

Suddenly strong arms wrapped around Molly’s torso and yanked her back against the seething length of his body. She gasped with the surprise and with the force of his hold on her. And she shook with rage and shivered when his voice murmured to her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“What do I care?” he hissed, refusing to let go of her, though she didn’t struggle in his arms. “What do I care?” he repeated, louder. He gripped the material of Molly’s blouse at her belly with tight fists, and his breath puffed over her neck in agitation. 

“What do you care?” she said again, lowly.

A button popped where the strain of his grip proved to be too much, and Molly watched it roll across the conference table before falling over when it lost speed. They stood there without moving, just their torsos pressing against each other with the deep breaths they pulled in.

Sherlock spoke again. “What do I care,” he said, though he wasn’t asking, this time.

A shudder ran through Molly when she felt him lean down and press his face into the curve of her shoulder and neck.  At first, she wasn’t sure if he was going to kiss her there, or if he was simply winded from shouting so much.

She got her answer when instead of kissing her, he bit her. Not hard, not enough to break the skin, but a small punishment for perceived wrongs.

Molly made a small noise. But not in objection. There was no way to mistake the sound she gave as anything close to protest.

Sherlock relaxed his mouth’s hold on her, and Molly imagined the indents in her skin where his teeth had held her, and she leaned more heavily against him in response. He dragged his warm lips  up the length of her neck until he reached her ear, which he nuzzled.

“What do _you_ think I care, Molly?” he asked.

Before she could articulate a response, Sherlock suddenly released her, but only so he could grab hold of her arms. He shoved her forward with his body, bending her forward over the oak surface. As soon as he was certain that she would stay there, his hands returned to her blouse, his dexterous fingers flicking the buttons open, working their way up her torso.

He didn’t bother to fully remove the shirt.  Instead, he spread his warm palms over her stomach and pushed his chest against her back again.

“You haven’t answered me,” he muttered, his voice rough and gutteral.

Molly shook her head, trying to clear the haze. “You like my help in the morgue and lab.”

His hand traveled up her belly, coming to stop when the weight of her breast rested against it. “We established that I appreciate that years ago. Try harder.”

“You don’t play well with the other staff pathologists,” she tried.

He covered her breast, his fingers tugging at her hardened nipple.  “And?”

Molly squirmed. “I’m nice to you.”

“You’re not being nice right now,” he reminded her, even as he palmed her other breast.

She gained some awareness at that. “Making a professional decision does not mean I’m being mean to you, Sherlock.”

“Perhaps not, but asking me why I’d care certainly isn’t kind,” Sherlock insisted angrily. His hands left Molly’s tits, and she bit her lip at the swirl of cool air that reached her.

“You’re hard to read,” she whispered.

His hands did not return to her breasts, but they fell to her hips, instead. He started bunching the material of her pencil skirt up around her waist, tugging a bit more roughly than was strictly necessary. It wasn’t _that_ tight.

“I think I’m being fairly clear now,” he suggested, dropping to his knees behind her.

“You’re being a dick,” Moly corrected.

Sherlock snapped the elastic band at the top of her pants against her skin, and then tugged it down so that her arse was bared to him. He leaned in and nipped at her flesh, and she arched her back and squeezed her thighs together at the feel of his lips and teeth on her sensitive skin.

Molly sucked in a gulp of air when she felt him pull her knickers the rest of the way down, his fingertips tickling her outer thighs and calves. When he reached her feet, he tapped both in turn, silently telling her to lift her legs to step out of the lacy material.

Glancing behind her, she caught him pocketing the underwear. His eyes met hers, and she looked away sharply.

She couldn’t contain the humming sound that escaped when he dragged the fingers of his right hand up the inside of her legs. When he reached her upper thighs, he sighed, and Molly once again shuddered with the cool air that spread across her legs and bum.  Nor was she able to keep from jumping when his long fingers dipped into her wet heat at the juncture of her legs.

His free hand cupped her left ankle as he continued to finger her where he crouched. Slowly, her hips began to rock with each stroke, and Molly bent her arms, trying to brace herself more securely on her elbows.

Just as she was about come, he withdrew his hand.

“So you’re just going to tease me?” Molly snipped.

“Not even remotely,” Sherlock murmured. He brought his hands back to her hips, and cool air met the wetness that smeared across her skin from his fingers. He muscled her around so that her bare arse rested against the cool wood of the table.  “Lie back,” he demanded.

Molly glared at him even as she did as he said.

Sherlock wasted no time in hooking her legs over his shoulders and burying his mouth against her sex.  His tongue dragged over her again and again, narrowing in with each stroke until he just lapped and sucked at her clit while his short, round nails bit into the flesh of her thighs.

Her hands wove into his hair, tugging roughly with each move he made that she approved of. She panted and gasped with every draw of his mouth, until suddenly, everything tensed and tightened, and she gave low, hoarse cry, he back arching off of the hard wood.

Sherlock continued to tongue her lazily until she had to push him away. Showing no sign of the strain from kneeling so long, Sherlock hopped back to his feet and dragged Molly to hers.

“I’m so mad at you,” she whimpered.

“Likewise,” Sherlock said, before dropping his lips to hers for the first time.

The kiss only served to rebuild what Molly had thought was sated. Sherlock dragged her lower lip between his teeth before stroking his tongue against the inside of her mouth.

They panted against each other as their mouths moved together, and Molly realized she was trying to press nearer and nearer to Sherlock.  She could feel the hard ridge of his cock against her belly and it only made her writhe more, her hips twitching in sympathy and want.

She reached for his belt, unbuckling it and shove it aside with impatient hands. Once she had his trousers unzipped, the flaps shoved down, and his cock in her hand, Molly glanced up, defiantly staring at Sherlock.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he breathed in an out through his nose, trying desperately not to give in. And he managed it, too, until Molly swiped her thumb over the damp slit in the angrily red head of his cock.

A gasped moan escaped, though he clamped his lips shut, trying to stop it.

Molly smirked in triumph.

“This hardly means you’ve won,” he reminded her. Before she could respond, he batted her hand away and pushed until she lay down across the table again. She groaned when his fingers stroked her wet flesh once more, but she managed to think straight momentarily.

“I keep a condom in the inside pocket of my purse. Would you grab it?” Molly asked.

The sound of a foil packet tearing had her freezing and looking up from her prone position.

“No need. I brought one with me,” Sherlock said blithely as he rolled the rubber down his thick cock.

Molly straightened, ignoring his hand on her shoulder, trying to push her back down. She glared at him as she struggled to her feet. “You planned this?”

He shrugged, annoyed at her interruption. Poking at her, he tried (futilely) to get her to lie down. “Not _this_ , exactly. But I knew I should be prepared.”

Molly’s heart thudded. “Prepared? For what? To manipulate me with sex?”

“No. What do you mean by that?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

“You’re unbelievable. You decided to change my mind the best way you knew; something that would surely work on poor, pathetic Molly.”

His mouth opened, but Molly barreled on. “No, really, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The means are always justified by the end for Sherlock Holmes.”  Again, he tried to reply. Again, she interrupted. “Well, who am I to disappoint you? If I’m so predictable, we’d better get on with it.”

Sherlock actually snarled. “Will you let me speak?” he demanded.

Molly curled her arms around him in mock intimacy. “What for? You’re more than ready to move on to the next step in your scheme. This has been so good, I’m almost ready to consider it,” she spat.

He gripped her waist and pushed her away slightly, just enough that he could whirl her around to look out across the empty chairs once more. He let go of her waist and gripped her wrists, bending her forward again, slapping her hands down on the table's surface. His arm wrapped low around her hips, rucking them up, and he pressed the entire front of his body to the back of hers.

“You’re quick to condemn me, Molly Hooper. I should get a chance to defend myself,” he grunted in her ear.

His cock brushed the inside of her thigh, and Molly licked her lips. “Go ahead and try.”

He stood there, poised at her entrance.  “I did plan to stop you. And after I convinced you to say, I planned to make love to you.”

They were pretty words, but Molly was still bothered.  She squeezed her eyes shut as Sherlock slid into her, just the head of his cock at first.

“I’m not catching why one thing would definitely lead to the other.”  Her muscles tensed as she felt him pump his hips, going a bit deeper with each stroke. “Jesus. You feel good. I’m not going to change my mind just because you’re fucking me, Sherlock.”

“I didn’t expect it to be this way. I though we would talk and then, as they say, one thing would lead to another after. But I arrived at your office only to learn that you’d already started making arrangements to leave. I suspected it, but your calendar confirmed it for me,” he gritted out.

“So you picked a fight with me, instead.” Her head dropped forward as he stroked into her, bottoming out finally.

“I had to stop you.”

Molly arched her back, absorbing every press his his hips. “But _why_ did you have to stop me, and why did think we would make love after?”

 Sherlock was now moving with a smooth rhythm, his breaths pulled in and gasped out harshly. “I had to do it because I love you.” His voice hitched on the admission.

She felt sweat dribble down in the valley between her breasts, and a hot flush suffused her face as she strained back against him.  “And you chose to withold those feelings until you benefited from telling me.”

“Then don’t make this decison because of my feelings for you. Make it because you don’t want to leave,” he whispered in her ear.

Molly’s fingers convulsed, clutching the table edge so hard she worried she might leave nail marks in the wood veneer. Her body tensed more and more with each thrust of his cock into her, and she couldn’t make another sound, though her mouth dropped open in a silent, protracted moan.

It wasn’t very long before Sherlock’s hips sped up, his fingers scrabbling at her skin. When he became aware that Molly was at some sort of plateau, though, he moved his hand down to her clit, stroking it clumsily, out of sync from his desperate thrusting.

She came hard, all of her muscles clenching and fluttering, her chest burning with the need to pull in cool calming air, but the rest of her body saying, ‘no, wait just a moment more.’

Sherlock’s hips stuttered against her, he gave a low shout, and then he was still.

Finally, Molly sucked in a deep, glad breath.

He sank down over her, and she relished the feeling the cool wood against her cheek and chest as she was pressed into it.  Sherlock rested his head on her back, his breath still gasping in an out, but his thumb stroked her fingers calmly.

“I don’t want you to stay just for me,” he murmured against her shoulder. “But I also want to be a reason that you stay.”

Molly watched their joined hands, thinking. “You can’t do this every time we disagree on something.”

“I know. But the moment I realized you might be leaving, I panicked. I want you here. And even though I’m not the only person who does, I’m still a selfish man. I should have been more careful, but I have little to offer you.”

Molly turned her head more. She could just make out his sweat-soaked curls over her shoulder. “You have more than one thing to offer me. But it _is_ nice to know that it’d make a difference if I left.”

He withdrew from her, enabling him to stretch further over her so he could place a soft kiss on her dewy cheek. 

“Molly, it would make all the difference in the world.”

* * *

 


End file.
